


Ritus

by crimsonseekers



Series: Valentine's Collection 2020 [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Brainstorm is a rainbow glow stick idiot in love, Getting conjuxed, Multi, Rodimus is a flaming idiot in love, Whirl is a pointy idiot in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 16:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22685353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonseekers/pseuds/crimsonseekers
Summary: Ratchet should've known that the conjuxing ceremony of Rodimus, Whirl, and Brainstorm would be interesting.
Relationships: Brainstorm/Rodimus/Whirl
Series: Valentine's Collection 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628566
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52





	Ritus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harperuth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harperuth/gifts).



> A Valentine's ficlet for Harper (@floralpunkcfb) on Twitter!

Drift was the last one to arrive at the ceremony before it started - and his appearance alone was cause for Ratchet to look at him questionably.

“I would’ve thought your plating would be more buffed and less…” he gestured.

Drift quirked a smile. “Singed? Charred beyond repair? Like I just swam through a volcano?” Ratchet frowned but simply nodded in response.

“I thought that you and Rodimus would’ve been more careful with your appearances right before he’s set to be conjuxed.” Drift huffed.

“Rodimus had his own ideas about how he wished to appear for the ceremony, and I quote: ‘You gotta look your best, right? Well, I look my best when smokin’ hot so that’s what I’ll be!’ End quote.”

Ratchet stared at Drift a moment longer before Tailgate’s head popped between them, leaning precariously forward from the row behind them.

“Whirl’s doing the same thing!” he chirped. “Cyclonus says you gotta show off your best attributes when conjuxing, so Whirl’s gonna promote his warrior-ness!”

Ratchet cycled his optics at Tailgate’s statement, before shifting slightly to stare wordlessly at Cyclonus who -  _ Primus _ \- was at least in better shape for the ceremony than Drift was (which was a low standard - Ratchet was fairly sure that he would need to enlist First Aid’s assistance in reconstructive surgery to fix some of his conjux’s melted plating). Deep scratches, dents, and other miscellaneous minor injuries that Ratchet wasn’t even really sure he wanted to ask how they happened. Cyclonus simply glanced at him, grunted, and returned his stare to the alter, where Ultra Magnus was beginning to shift.

A quick glance at his chronometer confirmed Ratchet’s suspicions - late, all three of them. Not that he should be surprised.

“You think that’s bad?” he heard someone grumble behind him, and turned slightly to see, next to a giggling Rewind -  _ frag it all _ \- Chromedome slouching annoyedly in his seat. A very  _ neon _ Chromedome. Pink, green, and orange neon, to be precise.

“Do I want to know what happened to you?” Ratchet asked, though he knew it was a rhetorical question - he would inevitably find out anyway.

“While Brainstorm’s talent lies in science,” Chromedome muttered, picking at the colors that made him look - quite literally - like a glowstick, “it certainly does  _ not _ lie in the realm of color theory, or any general understanding of good taste.”

Ratchet looked at the glowing mnemosurgeon for a moment longer before venting deeply, offlining his optics, and letting his helm fall back. After a moment he onlined his optics again, brought his helm back up and shifted in his seat to look at all three - Drift, Cyclonus, and Chromedome - with a scrutinizing look.

“Do I even want to ask how any of you got into this state?” he asked slowly. “Or better yet, how likely is it the conjuxes-to-be look worse than the lot of you?”

Drift smiled serenely - though it stretched his burned faceplates horrifyingly. “Probably best to let the sight to speak for itself.”

And then something bright, hot, and orange barrelled through the door to the assembly hall.

It was Rodimus.

And he was on  _ fire. _

“Helloooooo, Crusadercons!” he crowed, strolling up to the altar as ‘bots scooched their chairs away, not exactly eager to be singed by his flames. “Who’s ready to watch me get conjuxed to the loves of my life?”

Ratchet had a deep sense of foreboding about why Drift looked like a melted piece of slag. And how Cyclonus and Chromedome themselves had gotten in their own states.

He barely had time to even consider turning around and glaring Cyclonus into an answer when Whirl strode into the hall, with a multitude of knives and guns strapped to his frame.

“Roddy-cheeks!” he whooped, galloping up to the stage where the altar was set. “You’re super hot, ya know that?”

“You’re looking pretty sharp yourself!” Rodimus winked. Or at least Ratchet thought he did - it was hard to tell between the flames and blindingly bright light of Brainstorm walking into the hall.

“Didn’t start without me, didja?” Brainstorm asked cheekily, making no comment of the way his paint was shifting through all the colors in existence and was  _ phosphorescent. _

“Stormy!” his two idiot lovers cheered.

“Absolutely glowing with radiance, darling,” Rodimus chirped.

“‘S gonna be an interesting frag,” Whirl remarked, bluntly.

Brainstorm bounced up to the altar, joining Whirl, Rodimus, and Ultra Magnus, who looked like he was deeply regretting his agreement when Rodimus had asked him to officiate.

There was a moment longer of them fawning over each other (well, for a given value of ‘fawning,’ where Whirl was concerned) before Ultra Magnus began the official rites.

Ratchet watched as the ceremony progressed - the moment was quite an event, if not only for the three curtains they’d had to put out, the deep scrapes on the stage from dragging swords, and the hell that fixing his optic settings would be later thanks to Brainstorm’s glowing, color-changing paint, then perhaps for the sickeningly fond way they all looked at each other.

Ratchet huffed a small laugh - earning a nudge from Drift.

Idiots, all three of them.

Idiots in love.

**Author's Note:**

> the ship dynamic is puns


End file.
